


Collar

by OnYourMark



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bondage, Multi, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnYourMark/pseuds/OnYourMark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He spent twelve years happily going on his knees for her. And then Neal Caffrey found the photographs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon on the meme who thought Neal should [get to dom](http://community.livejournal.com/fail_fandomanon/8504.html?thread=35650616) more often. Hope you like it, nonnie.

The thing was, a lot of people in law enforcement were into it.

Peter was a thorough man and he believed in knowledge as power beyond the triteness of the phrase. He liked to learn things; idle, useless things if he wanted, but also the details of things worth knowing. He would later learn everything he could about Neal Caffrey not because he ever thought he was going to need something like his shoe size, but because that was what Peter did. He learned. Everything.

He hadn't been an FBI agent for very long when his boss at the time tossed him a suspect to interrogate, the kept man of a wealthy woman whose very valuable bearer bonds had mysteriously disappeared from her safe. He was supposed to find out if the guy had stolen them, but he worked his way around to it by interrogating him about their relationship -- did she pay him (she did), how often did they meet, what services did he provide.

The man offered up the information that he was a submissive. He held out his arms and locked his wrists together to show Peter how she liked it. He talked about how freeing it was. He talked about how he didn't need to steal from her, how she paid him very well to be dominated by her and how he liked that too much to endanger their relationship.

"I don't think he's our guy," Peter told his boss. "I think he genuinely cares about this woman. He gets something from her."

"What's he get?" his boss asked, more intrigued than derisive. Peter had shrugged.

"I'll figure it out," he said.

Turned out he got to figure it out on his own time, because they eventually arrested her teenage son for the theft. Peter thought about looking up the guy he'd interrogated, but Off Work Contact was frowned on by the Bureau and Peter didn't need anyone thinking he was hiring male prostitutes on the side.

Instead, he studied. It was before the true advent of the internet, but there were plenty of bookstores in the Village he could visit. There were fiction books and guidebooks, even some from the library. He read _The Story Of O_ and wasn't that hot on it, but some of it was okay. He read the Kinsey Report. He found some obscure studies in the Journal Of Human Sexuality.

He decided that probably a good percentage of the people he spent _every day_ working with either submitted to someone or desperately wanted to. There were statistics to back it up. Peter loved statistics, and after a while he figured out just why the stats were so high.

What appealed was the freedom of it. He spent all day telling people what to do and having others look to him as an authority figure. You never really took the badge off if people knew you were in law enforcement. The other tenants in his building tended to come knocking on his door for any problem they had, for legal advice and advice on what to do about their wayward kids (like he knew a damn thing about kids) or even a plumbing problem. And yeah, Peter could totally fix a leaking sink, but it was stressful to have so much riding on his shoulders.

Sometimes he thought about what it would be like, just for an hour, to be that free.

He met Elizabeth a few months after the interrogation, and he hadn't exactly planned on having her up for coffee on their first date. It was just that his place was closer and they'd been walking in the park and were both freezing, so he asked her to come up to his apartment, just to warm up for a few minutes, and was pathetically happy when she agreed. Elizabeth was hot and smart and way out of his league, and yet she kept laughing at his stupid jokes, which was baffling. Having her in his apartment, drinking his coffee, that would be really something. Maybe if he was suave enough he could get her to say yes to a second date.

He'd forgotten his research. Nobody ever came to his place; there was no reason to hide it. Peter wasn't the sort of man who usually hid things, anyway.

"The Better Built Bondage Book," she read aloud from the living room, while he made coffee in the kitchen nook. Peter froze. "I guess even do-it-yourselfers have kinks," she added.

"Research for work," he said hastily, coming forward to clear the books off the table, but she picked up the one below that.

"The Submissive's Handbook." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you like it on your knees, Peter?"

"What?" he asked, stopping mid-grab.

Elizabeth reached out and tugged on his tie, and Peter fell to his knees almost without thinking about it.

"Stay," she said, and went to get the coffee, and that was when Peter knew he was probably going to marry this woman if she'd put up with him long enough.

It was better; she loved him. She _trained_ him.

He didn't want it all the time, and neither did she. Their life wasn't like that. Outside of the ropes, outside of the scenes, they were equals, even in the bedroom. But once in a while, it was nice to let her tie him up and force him not to think, not to worry. He gave her a ring when he proposed; the next day she gave him a thick, soft leather collar with _Property of Elizabeth_ on the tag. He spent twelve years happily going on his knees for her.

And then Neal Caffrey found the photographs.

\---

The conditions had been simple. He hadn't really even had _conditions_ \-- he'd been curious to see what he looked like, bound up for her, and he'd been agreeable to the idea of taking pictures. But he'd made it clear: no shots above the chest, no pictures where the birthmark on his left thigh was visible. No identifying marks. Just in case. Elizabeth thought it was wise, and with a digital camera and a high-quality printer they didn't even need to find someone discreet to develop them.

So when he walked into his bedroom, looking for Neal -- who had come over for dinner and been gone upstairs a lot longer than it took to use the bathroom -- and found Neal crosslegged on their bed, sifting through the photos, he wasn't _afraid_ , exactly. Angry, yes. Annoyed that Neal had been snooping. A little embarrassed about what he'd found. But he wasn't worried Neal would figure it out, because Neal could be weirdly dense about people sometimes.

"These are fantastic," Neal said, totally unashamed, totally impenitent. Peter leaned in the doorway and crossed his arms. "Seriously, who's the artist? I'd like some of their work."

"Neal," Peter said warningly.

"Are these Elizabeth's? I didn't think you dug on guys," Neal continued, uncovering another one. He held it up and Peter sighed. "Hot. Did you give these to her? Like, a birthday gift or something?"

"Neal, those are private," Peter said, coming forward and holding out his hand. "Give. Now. Or do you miss prison food that badly?"

"Relax, it'll be our little secret," Neal said, and was offering the photos back to him when he stopped suddenly. He looked at Peter's hand, and then down at the first photo on the pile. The one of Peter's hands, bound behind his back with yellow rope. (Elizabeth liked him in yellow. Peter had never asked why or bothered objecting; he didn't have any say in these things when the collar went on, and she'd never asked his opinion out of it.)

Neal studied the photo, and then placed all of them in Peter's hand very, very carefully.

"Those are you," he said, in an oddly strangled voice. Peter set them back in the open bedside drawer, glad Neal hadn't picked the lock on the bottom drawer where they kept the collar and...other things. He put his hands on his hips.

"Out," he said. Neal slid off the bed, but he didn't go anywhere.

"I probably should have guessed that," he said, leaning into Peter slowly. "All that command, all that responsibility. It must be nice to let it go. Me, I like being in control, but I get why some people don't."

"Get out," Peter said through gritted teeth, because he was fighting the urge to bow his head and present his wrists.

"Come on, Peter, you think I'm going to judge? Me?" Neal laughed, low. "I'm not exactly a stranger to this kind of thing. You think I was so worried about Kate because I'm a romantic? I mean, I am," he added, and slid a hand down Peter's arm, and Peter clenched his fists. "And I loved her more than the world. But she was _mine_ , Peter. My girl. She was my responsibility. That's what made me so crazy." He stepped back then, and Peter relaxed a fraction. "So you understand better than I thought."

"This isn't a game, Neal," Peter said.

"Oh, I know that," Neal answered. "Don't worry. Like I said -- your secret's safe with me."

He left; Peter heard him descend the stairs, greeting El at the bottom with a cheerful _So, dessert?_

He took two minutes by the clock to pull himself together, then went downstairs himself. Neal was casually helping Elizabeth eat a plate of cookies, and if he had any lingering thoughts about the bedroom, he didn't show them. It still took Peter half an hour to relax, and Elizabeth noticed. She noticed enough that she put him in the collar that night and made him tell her what had happened.

At least he got a sound night's sleep afterward.

In the morning, Neal wasn't any different, and had nothing to say on the matter of ropes, wrists, or submissive FBI agents. But he did look thoughtfully at Peter when he thought Peter wasn't looking at him.

\---

A week later, he came home to find Elizabeth sitting on the sofa, a glass of wine in one hand, obviously lost in thought. The collar dangled from the fingers of her other hand.

"Little early for that," he said, nodding at the collar. She looked up like she was startled to see him. "Something wrong?"

"Maybe," she said, and held it up. "Do you mind?"

"No," he answered, pleased -- he wasn't always given the choice -- and pulled off his coat, hanging it over a dining-room chair. He laid his tie across the coat, then took off his shirt and came back to the living room, buckling the collar around his throat. He sank down to the floor, sitting with his back to the sofa, shoulder against her thigh. Closed his eyes and waited. Elizabeth would talk when she was ready.

She rubbed his hair, affectionate, and finally spoke. "Neal called me today."

Peter tried not to tense up, focused on keeping his breathing even. He didn't respond; she'd tell him if she wanted a response.

"It was pretty funny," she continued, meditative. "He asked if he could borrow you. I mean, I know people do that kind of thing, but we've always been...private. I didn't know what to say."

Peter inhaled, exhaled. It was, after all, good protocol. Neal didn't have to ask him. Neal had asked Elizabeth, and that was right and proper. If Elizabeth wanted his opinion she'd ask it, but otherwise she had the right to do what she pleased. That was the deal, when the collar was on.

Peter had the right to take the collar off if he wanted. Or, if he were bound, he had a safeword. He could take the collar off and say no, but until he did that, this was Elizabeth's show.

He didn't have to have an opinion on this. Not until she asked him for one.

"I told him I wasn't sure. I think it might mess you two up. On the other hand, it could be good for him. I think he'd be grateful to have someone again. He really does understand," she said. "Did he tell you Kate was his?"

Peter nodded.

"So he knows what he's doing. He'd treat you well. Besides, if he sent you back damaged he knows I'd throw a fit," she said, and laughed a little. "I think it would be good for him, sweetie."

He stayed still, concentrating on his breathing.

"I guess really the question is if you're willing to go there. Think of it that way, instead of it being about Neal. Would you let me give you to someone else?" she asked. "As a gift? Would you do that for me? You can talk."

He turned and kissed her thigh, through her skirt. "You have to be there," he said.

"Of course. The first time, anyway," she said, and looked satisfied. "That's my good man," she added softly, and ruffled his hair again. "Take your time."

She flicked on the television; there was a game on, but she changed it over to some drama or other, where all the women looked alike and all the men were assholes. Peter hated the show, didn't even know the name of it, but he knew it was her guilty pleasure. So he sat quietly, eyes closed, and tried to feel her pulse against his cheek.

It took him another hour of bad drama and depressing TV news before he finally got to the right headspace. This was a done deal. Why worry about it now? It was going to happen and there was no way he could stop it. The thought was a relief.

Elizabeth noticed the change, in his breathing, in his posture, and reached down to unbuckle the collar. He slid up onto the sofa when she tugged it off, following her arm, and pulled her against him, his own arm around her shoulders.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Love you," she answered, and kissed him.

\---

Peter was kneeling on the floor, hands tied behind him, head bowed, and struggling to maintain his composure.

Neal had been pacing a narrow circle around him for almost five minutes, just looking; Peter wasn't even naked, though he was down to just his jeans and collar, and he'd never felt more exposed in his _life_.

"What does he like?" Neal asked, finally. Peter couldn't see Elizabeth; she was sitting behind him at Neal's table, sipping red wine he could smell from here. He tried not to tense up.

"It's easy enough," Elizabeth said, like she was giving Neal instructions on how to look after Satchmo. "He just wants to be good. The list of no is longer than the list of yes."

"Pain?"

"Definitely not," Elizabeth said. Peter felt a mild twitch of relief. He didn't mind a little now and then, but they'd tried a crop once and he really, really hadn't liked that. One of the few times he'd ever used the safeword. "No watersports -- "

"Ugh," Neal responded.

"Glad we're on the same page," Elizabeth said. "I don't want you using any gags this time. Blindfolds are okay. You can discipline him if he misbehaves. Humiliation, but not too much."

Neal crouched and tipped Peter's head up. "Do you like to be called names, hm?"

"Depends on the name," Elizabeth answered for him. "Pet. Good boy. Beautiful."

Neal ran a thumb over Peter's lips with an air of total ownership. Peter tried not to respond, was vaguely pleased when he succeeded. "I can do that," Neal murmured, and shoved Peter's head down again, standing up. He started circling him once more. "Orgasm?"

"Permission only," Elizabeth said. Peter groaned mentally. He was hoping Neal wouldn't ask about that, but he knew Elizabeth had the cock ring in her purse.

"Is he even into men?" Neal asked. "I mean, I can teach him to suck cock but -- "

Peter realized his mistake as soon as he made it; he'd looked up sharply at Neal for just a moment. Neal swatted him across the back of the head even as he lowered it again.

"Was that a yes or a no?" Neal asked Elizabeth, sounding amused.

"He might be out of practice," Elizabeth said. "But that was a yes."

"Penetration? I top," Neal said.

"I kinda figured," Elizabeth laughed. "He's fine with that."

Peter, out of the corner of his eye, saw Neal raise an eyebrow at Elizabeth. _Inevitable_ , he reminded himself. _This is going to happen and there's nothing you can do, so why worry? Just let it happen. You're not in control now. You're not expected to be._

He wondered if Elizabeth was getting off on this. God, he hoped so. He certainly was.

"Can you think of anything else I need to know?" Neal asked. Peter heard Elizabeth move, wasn't sure where she was anymore.

"He's my husband," she said. "You're his partner. We're friends. A couple of hours from now we have to get up and go back to our lives and deal with all this. Are you sure, Neal?"

A hand on his head, too large to be Elizabeth's.

"You compartmentalize well," Neal said. "So do I. I won't abuse it, Elizabeth."

Peter couldn't tell whether he meant the situation or Peter when he said _it_. He fought a shiver.

"Be good for Neal," Elizabeth said, bending to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm right here."

He couldn't help himself, he really couldn't, and it was such bad manners in front of someone new, but he said it before he could stop himself. She should know, she was his wife, he had to make sure she knew. "You get to safeword too."

Neal cuffed him across the head again. "Shut up. She knows that. You think I didn't tell her that?"

Peter tensed.

"Behave," Elizabeth ordered. "I'm sorry, Neal -- "

"It's just nerves," Neal said, then turned back to Peter angrily. "What kind of man do you think I am? She's your wife, of course she can safeword. Get it together, you're embarrassing her."

Peter forced himself to relax, muscle by muscle. Of course Neal had told her. Elizabeth wouldn't give him to someone she didn't trust. Someone who wasn't worthy of her trust.

"Now," Neal said, more gently. "Are you going to talk again without my permission?"

Peter kept still.

"Because if you do I'll make sure you understand just how this is," Neal continued. "You don't get a say in this. You do not _ever_ get to tell Elizabeth what to do during this. Do you get to tell Elizabeth what to do?"

Peter shook his head.

"Do you get to tell me what to do?"

Peter stared down at Neal's tracker, at the little green light solid on his ankle.

"Peter?" Neal's voice was a whipcrack. Peter shook his head. Of course he didn't. He didn't have to. He _couldn't_.

"Okay then. Let's try this again," Neal said, and tugged on the back of his collar gently, and suddenly Peter dropped way, way down into the dark, quiet place where nothing mattered. All he had to do was be good for Neal.

\---

When the ropes came off his wrists and the collar slid off his neck, some indeterminate amount of time later, Peter gasped in a breath of air and started to laugh uncontrollably.

He was in Neal's bed, and he was naked, and God, that had been _good_. He was going to be sore tomorrow but he didn't even care. He was pretty positive he'd heard Elizabeth come at some point, though for a while Neal had put the blindfold on him so he wasn't positive what had happened. He'd definitely heard Neal come. He'd _felt_ Neal come. Twice.

He was incredibly hard and needed a shower and his arms were cramped, and he wasn't even sure where his clothing was, but he couldn't stop laughing.

"That happens sometimes," he heard Elizabeth say, and a hand rubbed one of his shoulders. He opened his eyes to find Neal leaning over him, naked too, looking delighted. Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the bed, beaming, fully clothed, but her hair was rumpled and she had a certain post-orgasmic glow about her.

"You were great, sweetie," she said, kissing his forehead. "Sore?"

"Nothing too bad," Peter said, getting himself under control. "I've had worse."

" _Really_ ," Neal answered. Peter pushed himself up to sitting, arms shaking a little.

"You?" Peter asked. Neal rested a chin on his shoulder.

"I'm good," he said, one hand sliding down Peter's spine. "You look like you want a hot shower."

"God, yeah." Peter tried to stand, staggered for a moment, let El catch him.

"You need help?" Neal asked, suddenly concerned. "I mean..." he hesitated. Elizabeth turned to him, and Peter did too. "Kate, used to want...I know how to do aftercare, that's all I'm saying," he said uncertainly. "If it's not my place..."

"Some other time," Peter told him, feeling the weird switch flick over in his head -- the collar was off, which meant Neal belonged to him again, instead of the reverse. He watched Neal carefully, saw the change in him as well. "I'm okay this time."

Neal nodded and let him go; Elizabeth helped him along for a few steps until he steadied out.

He turned on the hot water, as hot as he could stand, and ducked under it, just enjoying the soothing beat of it on his muscles for a minute. When his shoulders began to loosen up, he leaned against the wall of the shower and jerked off -- it didn't take much before he came, though when he did something caught in his chest and he arched hard, remembering...Neal's hands on his head, positioning him just-so. Neal's thighs up against his, Elizabeth watching calmly. Neal's fingers tucked under his collar.

When he emerged, his clothing was sitting on the counter next to the sink. Out in Neal's loft, Elizabeth was pouring coffee.

"...do it again," Neal was saying. He gave Peter a wave; Elizabeth gestured him over, and there was a plate waiting for him with orange slices on it. Peter crammed one into his mouth hungrily. "I was thinking some kind of standing arrangement, but it's up to you."

"I'd like that," Elizabeth said. "Peter?"

"Hm?" Peter asked, mouth full of orange. He glanced at Neal and nodded, swallowing. "Maybe at our place next time? Dinner first?"

"Will you kneel next to my chair?" Neal asked, grinning. Peter grinned back. "Oh my God, you will, won't you? Can I feed him?" he asked excitedly, turning to Elizabeth.

Peter settled back in his chair while they talked about details; that was the nice thing about afterplay. The collar was off, and he could object if he wanted, but he still didn't have to worry too much. There was something soothing about Neal's presence, about Elizabeth having someone trustworthy to talk to about it.

When they were ready to leave, Neal walked them to the door and caught Peter's hand before he stepped out, kissing the knuckles gently.

"Be good for Elizabeth," he teased. Peter narrowed his eyes. Neal laughed. "Seriously. Thank you. This was...I needed it. I don't know how to thank you."

"Thank her," Peter said, tipping his head at Elizabeth. "She's the boss."

"Don't forget it," Elizabeth said, and tugged him towards the car. She drove; he leaned against the window, sleepy and content.

"That was a nice afternoon," she said.

"Yeah," he replied. "I think so. You have a good time?"

"Yep. I'll have to think about what to serve for dinner. I mean, finger food seems best," she added. Peter laughed.

"Love you," he said, pushing away from the window and leaning across to kiss her cheek.

"Love you too, beautiful," she told him, and ruffled his hair.


End file.
